Winter's Early - The Complaints of a Patriot
by Beckett Simpleton
Summary: Arthur could complain all day about how much he loves Autumn turning Winter. Might be one or two swear words. Warning. Britishness. I don't own Hetalia


Winter's Early

A window only shows what you don't want to face going outside to look at. Arthur didn't want to stand outside and feel the winter winds whip about him and tug at his hair, icy and bone dry, snapping the air from him and turning his breath into clouds. He didn't want to step outside to the puddles that lay and had lain for the past week or so, too cold for them to evaporate, and even if they were to disappear, the hourly rain kept them topped up.

He didn't want to stand and listen to London calling in annoyance because the person in front was driving too slowly. He didn't want to see groups of teens trying not to shiver, drinking cheap alcohol and energy drinks at nine at night on the street corners. He didn't want to see pigeons or hear next door's too-loud music.

He didn't want to feel like Christmas in October and he didn't want to wear his coat to go to the newsagent's to buy milk again because he'd been drinking tea all day to try to warm himself up. He did not want to look at his energy bill for having the heating on all hours, even when he was at work, in case the dog got cold.

He didn't want to have to wear his bloody gloves to walk the dog around the maze of concrete streets and pass 100 other people who'd rather be indoors watching the bloody X-Factor with the heating on and a cup of tea or coffee or some other sort of warm, comforting Christmassy thing.

He didn't want to get ready to go to work tomorrow morning only to be felled at 6 o'clock in the morning by a car that wouldn't start and that had frost splayed across the windscreen in delicate but infuriating patterns. He didn't want to have to stand for 10 minutes scraping the ice off his tiny car's windows with a CD case that really deserved better treatment.

He didn't want to shiver upon opening the kitchen window because he'd burt the toast. He didn't want to have a week of not eating breakfast because it was too cold to nip to the shops. He didn't want to ask for some teabags from next door.

He didn't want to wake up in the dark and get home in the dark. He didn't want to have to have all of the lights on at five in the afternoon.

He didn't want to have to choose between repeats of American versions of British shows, the X-Factor and the BBC on his television and end up watching something just because the setting looked sunny. He didn't want to have Simon Mayo on the radio because he'd lost his temper with the shitty telly. He didn't want to have to drive to work either listening to Classical Radio or young girls requesting Justin Bieber at stupid times in the morning. He didn't want to have to be taking headache tablets at seven am.

He didn't want to have to wear socks for bed in fear that he woke himself up from the feel of his own frigid toes. He didn't want red ears and blue lips. He didn't want to keep washing his hands for no reason other than to warm himself up slightly. And for the same reason, touching to radiator when he knew it was too hot, sticking his arse in front of the wood burner and putting his hands under his armpits.

He hated not wanting to step out of the shower or sitting in the bath until the water was colder than the surrounding air.

Though he couldn't pretend that he hated baking just for the warmth, or cuddling up with a blanket and a book, he'd frown at the thought just out of spite.

And the same for watching the local council putting up the Christmas lights, and the busy shopping centres as October reached its end and people realised how close That Day was.

He pretended to hate how congested the A1 had become as people drove home or to family for the holidays and that shops began to actually sell out.

He pretended to hate British weather when talking to people, but really knowing that he was undeniably patriotic and feeling a certain swelling of anticipation as the leaves turned orange and red and fell from the trees as Autumn really began to take hold.

After all, if he didn't have it in him to smile sweetly and survey the new world as the seasons changed because of that too well inherited stiff upper lip, all he could do was complain.

**I could complain all day about how much I love winter.**

**~BS**


End file.
